🔗 Share this article

It started during that morning appearing perfectly normal. I rode together with my loved ones to collect our new dog. Life felt secure – then reality shattered.

Glancing at my screen, I discovered news concerning the frontier. I tried reaching my mother, anticipating her calm response telling me they were secure. Nothing. My parent was also silent. Next, I reached my brother – his tone instantly communicated the devastating news prior to he said anything.

The Unfolding Horror

I've seen numerous faces through news coverage whose lives were torn apart. Their gaze showing they didn't understand their loss. Then it became our turn. The torrent of tragedy were overwhelming, with the wreckage remained chaotic.

My young one glanced toward me across the seat. I moved to reach out separately. By the time we reached the city, I would witness the horrific murder of my childhood caregiver – almost 80 years old – as it was streamed by the terrorists who captured her residence.

I thought to myself: "Not one of our loved ones will survive."

Eventually, I saw footage showing fire erupting from our residence. Even then, later on, I denied the home had burned – not until my siblings provided images and proof.

The Fallout

Upon arriving at the city, I phoned the dog breeder. "Hostilities has begun," I told them. "My mother and father may not survive. My community fell to by terrorists."

The journey home involved searching for friends and family while simultaneously guarding my young one from the horrific images that circulated through networks.

The images of that day exceeded any possible expectation. Our neighbor's young son captured by several attackers. My mathematics teacher transported to the territory in a vehicle.

People shared social media clips appearing unbelievable. An 86-year-old friend likewise abducted across the border. A woman I knew with her two small sons – children I had played with – being rounded up by attackers, the horror in her eyes devastating.

The Painful Period

It felt interminable for the military to come the kibbutz. Then started the painful anticipation for updates. In the evening, one photograph emerged depicting escapees. My family were not among them.

During the following period, as community members worked with authorities locate the missing, we combed online platforms for signs of our loved ones. We saw torture and mutilation. We didn't discover recordings showing my parent – no indication about his final moments.

The Developing Reality

Over time, the reality emerged more fully. My senior mother and father – together with numerous community members – were abducted from their home. Dad had reached 83 years, my mother 85. In the chaos, 25 percent of our community members were murdered or abducted.

Over two weeks afterward, my mum emerged from confinement. Before departing, she looked back and offered a handshake of the militant. "Peace," she said. That image – an elemental act of humanity during indescribable tragedy – was broadcast everywhere.

Over 500 days following, my father's remains were returned. He was murdered a short distance from the kibbutz.

The Continuing Trauma

These tragedies and their documentation still terrorize me. The two years since – our desperate campaign to free prisoners, my father's horrific end, the continuing conflict, the destruction across the border – has intensified the initial trauma.

My family were lifelong peace activists. Mom continues, like most of my family. We understand that hate and revenge won't provide the slightest solace from our suffering.

I write this amid sorrow. As time passes, discussing these events grows harder, instead of improving. The kids from my community continue imprisoned with the burden of the aftermath feels heavy.

The Internal Conflict

Personally, I call focusing on the trauma "immersed in suffering". We've become accustomed sharing our story to campaign for freedom, despite sorrow feels like privilege we cannot afford – after 24 months, our campaign persists.

Not one word of this narrative represents justification for war. I continuously rejected the fighting from the beginning. The population in the territory experienced pain terribly.

I am horrified by leadership actions, but I also insist that the attackers cannot be considered benign resistance fighters. Having seen their atrocities on October 7th. They betrayed their own people – ensuring pain for all because of their murderous ideology.

The Social Divide

Discussing my experience with those who defend the attackers' actions feels like failing the deceased. The people around me experiences growing prejudice, meanwhile our kibbutz has fought against its government throughout this period while experiencing betrayal again and again.

Across the fields, the ruin of the territory appears clearly and visceral. It shocks me. At the same time, the ethical free pass that many appear to offer to the organizations causes hopelessness.